


Safehouse

by blueincandescence



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8034376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueincandescence/pseuds/blueincandescence
Summary: After the events of the Infinity Wars, Bruce and Natasha retire to the countryside and prepare to adopt the children of an old friend.





	Safehouse

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “Domesticity” for Week 1 of hulkwidownet’s Four Weeks of Challenges on tumblr
> 
> Premise: As Earth recovers from the Infinity Wars, a large number of people — especially those most affected by the violence — take a page out of Barton’s book and move out into remote communities to heal. For their part in saving the nine realms, Bruce and Natasha are granted the gift of anonymity. Newly married and semi-retired, the two choose a refuge outside of Bella Coola, British Columbia to build a life of peace as Frank and Anastasie Nichols. But Thanos’s defeat leaves the gifted more exposed than ever. The Pythagoras conspiracy forms to kidnap those who have the potential the change the world. Two of their first targets are Amadeus and Madame Curie Cho, the very young children of Dr. Helen Cho and her husband, Philip. Helen and Philip sacrifice their lives to save their son and daughter, leaving them under the care of the Avengers. After the children bond with Bruce and Natasha, they make the decision to adopt them and dedicate their lives to keeping them safe.
> 
> Notes: n the comics, Helen and Philip Cho do indeed die saving their children from supervillains. Since Amadeus Cho is the new comics Hulk, I couldn’t resist an AU where he’s raised as Bruce’s son.
> 
> Characters: I’ve mentioned a few non-film characters, so here’s a rundown. In the comics, Myra Haddock is a scientist for Department H, Canada’s SHIELD. I’ve given her a military rank here. Melinda May, professional badass, and her un-ex (for this story) husband Andrew Garner, a Culver University psychiatrist, come over from Agents of SHIELD to cameo. There isn’t much of a bio on Philip Cho, so I’ve characterized him as a five-star chef with a bohemian streak.
> 
> [cover art](http://blueincandescence.tumblr.com/post/150392037145/cover-art-for-my-brucenat-fics-ao3)   
> 

Groceries and other miscellany rattled in the bed of her repurposed black F-150 hybrid as Natasha rambled along winding backwoods roads. Sixty-five kilometers outside the nearest settlement in Bella Coola was far enough off the grid that a trip to the store — ‘the’ in the literal sense — could be legitimately called a supply run. A mission, of sorts, complete with cover, recon, and exit strategies. With so many newcomers to keep track of, the locals were dizzy with curiosity. Anastasie Nichols and her native Québécois reserve had gotten a free pass for months when she wasn’t with Frank, her more approachable American husband. Now that it was time for the news to spread that the Nichols family was doubling, everything from Anastasie’s new haircut to her choice of diapers invited comment.

Natasha planned to complain about this new social development to Bruce more to get in the spirit of the thing than out of actual annoyance for a couple of reasons. For one, she cherished her hard-earned, mystical anonymity far too much not to readily agree that grabby toddler hands were the impetus for her shorn look. Contrary to the general consensus, Natasha had not been thinking of sleek Parisian fashions when she’d borrowed Sif’s sword to lop off her hair. It had been her solution to a nasty encounter with some Skrulls on a Hulk-sized cameo they’d agreed to make in the Shi’ar Empire; the Big Guy could smell a fake a mile away, but Carol tended to punch first and make apologies later when shapeshifters were in the mix. For another, the diaper conversation had actually taken an interesting turn when Myra Haddock had looked up from the romance novels she was eyeing to let Natasha know which brand was so simple to put on she’d managed it without her prosthetic. That conversation had led to a Battle of Toronto story and enough intel to finally conclude that Major Haddock, Victoria Cross or no, was about as retired as the Black Widow was. Natasha wondered what kind of benefits package Department H had for their consultants. Maria had not budged on the issue of a yearly paid vacation to space.

Turning between two oaks marked with Asgardian protection symbols, Natasha let out a sigh of thanks that, once more, the universe had seen fit to let her come home. It was still a new feeling, and one so terrifyingly good that she had to fight to let her guard down. The shimmer of the holofence that secured their property top to bottom was visible only because Natasha knew where and at what angle to look. Clint had always refused one for his own pastoral safe house, stating that civilians weren’t that blind or that dense, but the technology had come a long way after Tony had gotten an up close look at Nova Corps’ designs. More importantly, though Natasha had personally laid to rest the Pythagorean conspiracy — as in, it had been so personal that the dead weren’t mourned even by Bruce — she would much rather risk speculation than exposure to attack.

At just four and one, Amadeus and Maddy Cho had been through more than enough danger for one lifetime. Natasha had already signed her name next to Bruce’s on a piece of paper that swore they’d do everything in their power to protect them from anyone. That part they had experience in. The rest — Natasha adjusted her grip on the steering wheel — well, even Laura had said there had been one a hell of a learning curve with Cooper.

The distant buzz of a power saw greeted Natasha when she pulled up to the front of their sprawling modified cabin. The same noise had accompanied her drive down the lane early this morning. She hadn’t questioned Bruce’s latest project, just as she’d never ribbed Clint for his nesting habits. Growing up terrorized at home left a lot to make up for.

Which probably explained the sheer volume of provisions she’d ended up coming back with. Reaching under the truck bed cover, Natasha regarded the giant daffodil yellow rabbit she’d bought on a whim. Not usually like her, but the first time she’d given into a whim she’d invited Dr. Bruce Banner, a veritable laboratory recluse, to an opera. And that whim, a few Earth-shattering events later, had turned out better than anything she’d ever methodically planned.

Natasha left the rabbit with the rest of the toys — an Avengers lego set, a trio of baseball mitts, and a variety of other fruits of capitalism that American TV had taught her helped children feel loved. She ladened herself with reusable grocery bags. It took three trips to get it all in. Amadeus and Maddy had inherited the far-flung tastes of their father; Melinda had called her just last night to let her know Amadeus was in the throes of what Andrew had deemed a very healthy tantrum over a craving for roasted snails. Helen had subsisted on nutrition shakes throughout her tenure with the Avengers. It was a comfort to realize just how much falling in love with a world class chef must have expanded Helen’s neat, work-obsessed horizons. Everybody had the capacity to live for themselves in different ways; in Natasha’s experience, it took connecting with other people to see the potential.

Coming out of the kitchen and onto the screened-in portion of the back porch, Natasha ran her fingertips along the cradle she’d varnished yesterday. It was dry and just about ready to be moved upstairs to what was to be Maddy’s room. Natasha waved one hand inside the wood railing and used the other to trigger the security protocol. Viscous blue energy forced her hand out of the cradle. Within seconds, she had the mini Glock from her boot flush up against the force field. She unloaded the chamber at all angles, the whistle-quiet impact of each bullet absorbed by the nanoparticles. With a nod of satisfaction, Natasha mentally approved her design for use in the field. Tony wasn’t the only semi-retired Avenger with an eye for repurposing alien tech. She and Bruce had fire tested this and a dozen other prototypes over the past few prep weeks, both of them haunted by the sight of an overturned cradle, splintered and charred. If Helen hadn’t acted so quickly —

Natasha shuddered in the early fall breeze. She let herself be distracted from mourning her brilliant and brave colleague by the distant thwack of steel splitting wood. Her footfalls muffled, she followed the path to the clearing Bruce liked to work in. She stopped a few yards short, next to several generously spaced mounds of dirt. Three new trees planted for every one felled; Bruce was ever conscious of how much the planet itself had suffered in the War. She hung back just outside of Bruce’s periphery, at a place from which she could watch the deepening grimace etching his features and read the plans scribble-drawn onto the huge sheet of graphing paper hung next to the power saw. That he’d woken up this morning and expected to have a jungle gym of this magnitude completed in three days made her incline an eyebrow. No wonder he was frustrated.

With a low grunt, Bruce unwedged his broadax and gave another full-bodied swing, flinging shards of bark to the pine needle-strewn forest floor. The ax sunk so deep Bruce lost his grip when he tried to pull it back out. He threw down his work gloves and tried again. The sleeves of his flannel button down were rolled up to his elbows. His forearms sheened with sweat and rippled with exertion. Natasha would have told him again how much the lumberjack look suited him had he not succumbed to a bout of profanity. Bruce wrenched the ax from the tree, the abrupt momentum pitching him onto his ass. The ax sunk into the earth inches from a part of his anatomy very near and dear to her heart.

Natasha put her hand over her mouth and nose to keep from snorting and pressed her weight against a tree to keep from rushing over and picking him up off the ground. Her genius of a husband had bitten off more than he could chew with this one — and that, it had only taken a second to realize, was entirely the point. There was next to nothing Bruce loved more than a complex project he could run and hide himself inside. This one at least offered a release valve for his temper; he and the Big Guy got on fine these days so long as Bruce left the lid open.

Bruce snorted at himself, picked himself off the ground and got back to work. Natasha lingered a while longer to watch the compact coil of his lean muscles, the bounce of his salt and pepper curls. He was building himself into another state, and Natasha left before the part of herself that tended toward irrationality when it came to him won out. The two of them were still novices at the whole marriage thing, but they’d gone at it enough times to figure out that emotional space was just as vital as emotional intimacy.

She backtracked to the open air portion of the porch and settled into what Bruce called her pillow fort. She swiped the air in a practiced motion to activate the holograph system. There were two assistance requests on her docket, one of which would be no trouble at all since her contact in Kiev owed her one from back when the biggest global threat to hit powered circles were the Accords. Simpler times.

Natasha had just taken care of that request when she got two incoming messages right in a row, one from Melinda and one from Andrew. Adrenaline spiked as a half-dozen scenarios vied for brainspace in the time it took her to swipe open her inbox. Melinda’s message was titled ‘Identity Papers’ and Andrew’s ‘Evaluation 5’ — Natasha drooped onto the cushions, one hand covering her face. This is what her life was going to be from now on. Endless, irrational worry. She was definitely going to find herself in Bruce’s place behind that ax one day soon.

It went against her very nature, but she refrained from opening the evaluation until Bruce was with her. Compromise was another one of those marriage concepts they were getting the hang of. Instead, she checked the documents Melinda had sent. There were mocked up South Korean birth certificates along with adoption papers that legally recognized the children as Dae and Madeleine Nichols, naturalized Canadian citizens. Someone at HQ had even manipulated a photo of the four of them that transformed the backdrop into a Seoul orphanage. That their first family portrait was something of a lie did not bother Natasha in the least; Maddy was grinning up at Bruce’s goofiest face and Amadeus, forgetting himself in his excitement, had taken Natasha’s hand to lead her over to the erector set he’d put together. She moved the photo over to hang next to the documents she tripled-checked for authenticity. Her eyes kept sliding off the words and onto the kids’ faces, but she found herself too pleased by the distraction to care.

The clomp of Bruce’s work boots preceded his shuffling appearance into her sightline. Natasha sat back, extending her arms across the top of the cushions, and roved her gaze from the tips of his muddy boots to the whorl of chest hair at his open collar.

Lips turned up, eyes cast down, Bruce scrubbed a dirt-streaked hand over his scruff and through his sweat-soaked hair. “I’m a mess,” he told her, stating two things that were obvious at once.

Natasha hummed in agreement, patting the cushion beside her anyway. Bruce didn’t hesitate; he’d been making an apology, not an excuse. He tugged off his boots to drop them next to her shoes and flopped beside her, smelling of earth and exertion. His head came to rest on her lap and his arms twined around her waist. Ready to be comforted.

Smiling softly, she dug her fingers into the silvery threads of his hair and tugged. “You left me to carry in all the groceries.”

He groaned. “I’m sorry, dear.”

Natasha tugged harder at his sitcom inflection, and he chuckled. She said, “Don’t worry, I left you plenty to do. D’ya know, I bought a hundred diapers? Never done that before.”

Bruce kissed the denim over her inner thigh. “You’re a natural.”

So that was what he’d decided to let eat him up today. Traveling alone across continents with two traumatized toddlers, half-mad with worry for her out there on a vengence kick, had not been the ideal test of Bruce’s parental side. Even so, those kids had fallen in love with him by the time she’d returned. He’d done plenty right by them, even if they had taken to her faster.

To his claim, Natasha countered, “We both know that’s not true. I just spent a lot of years watching Laura set the perfect example.”

“I’m sure you did learn a lot from her,” Bruce conceded, and rolled over so he could place his hand on her chest. “It’s what’s in here that makes you a natural.” He squeezed her tit to circumvent punishment vis-à-vis her statute against schmaltz.

Natasha flicked his nose anyway. Bruce rolled back over to hide his face, whining about abuse.

When he raised his head again, it was because the hologram photo had caught his attention. They regarded it together for a long moment. “That looks real,” he said.

“Because it is.”

Bruce’s leg started to jiggle but he made it stop. “There’s a message.” He hiked a brow at her. Assuring him with a pat on his thigh that she’d waited for him this time, Natasha swiped to play.

The message opened on a blank dark steel wall, classic SHIELD underground bunker decor. She could tell just from the lighting that this was another video shot on Andrew’s phone. His calm, steady voice prompted, “Say hi to Bruce and Natasha,” as he panned over to where Maddy stood on a felt green mat. She let go of the plastic golf club she was clutching to wave. Her other fingers automatically went to her mouth, but Melinda was there to ease Maddy’s elbow down.

Natasha pursed her lips, stomach lurching at the image of Maddy’s hands when she’d finally tracked her to Rome. Anxiety had caused the toddler to gnaw at her skin past the point of blood. Andrew insisted she was too young to retain any memory of her two weeks in captivity, nor the initial attack on her home. A comfort in some ways, but conscious memories or no Natasha knew trauma like that sunk to the bone. Bruce sat up from her lap to wind his arms around her. She allowed herself to relax against his shoulder, his head stacking on hers.

The camera found Amadeus leaning on a table, intent in concentration over a messy pile of drawings. His small hand fisted the pencil like any four year-old might, but the lines he produced would make him the envy of an art student. Andrew asked him what he was drawing, and he replied, “The safehouse.” Amadeus traded a brown pencil for a gray one and proceeded to draw a bubble around the woodsy scene and expansive cabin he’d drawn. The details were exactly as they’d described when they’d asked his permission to take him and his sister home with them.

“Just a few more days until you go there,” Andrew said. “Are you excited to see Bruce and Natasha again?” Off Amadeus’s nod, he asked why.

Amadeus stretched further across the table to fish out a drawing he’d made of his rescue in Riyadh. He’d depicted Natasha coming down from the ceiling, lifelike features smiling in reassurance as her hand reached out for the undefined scribble that was Amadeus. Outside the margins of the cell, the Hulk punched open an escape path with one fist and held five kidnappers hostage in the other. With absolute assurance, Amadeus said, “They’re going to protect Maddy.”

“You, too, buddy,” Andrew corrected gently.

Amadeus nodded, the tilt of his chin giving him away. He’d learned to agree to stop the psychoanalyzing — Bruce had caught on to that trick right away — but the guilt hadn’t gone anywhere. Gifted was too common a word to describe Helen Cho’s son. The Pythagorean conspiracy had been built around his potential; no matter how safe they kept that solemn little boy, the threat of exploitation loomed large over the rest of his life. Natasha tucked her hand into Bruce’s, and he squeezed it.

After more waves from Maddy, the video cut to Andrew alone in an office. Bruce hit pause. They would listen to the diagnosis when they were a little less tense.

Natasha planted a kiss on his Adam’s apple, tasting salt. “We’re both allowed to be messes. We’ll just have to learn to take turns.”

Switching their positions so his head was cradled on her shoulder, Bruce ended up smearing more mud on her shirt. It matched the patches on her chest and her jeans.

She shook her head and stated, “Why.”

Bruce scrubbed his face again, further streaking it up. “I don’t know. I just remembered all the looks Amadeus gave me when we were on the run. When we passed a park were the only times he ever wanted to play, and I had to tell him no over and over — ”

“I’m sure that monumental betrayal, which probably saved his life, is already forgotten.” Natasha soothed a hand over Bruce’s forehead. She infused teasing into her voice to spark some much deserved levity. The kids were doing as well as could be expected, and so were they. “Just think, by the time you get that massive treehouse city built, Maddy might still be young enough to wanna play in it.”

That elicited another groan. “I know, I know. I’ll let you redraw the plans later. It’s your fault, anyway. You wanted to re-watch _Episode VI_ last night.”

“Leave the Ewoks out of this.”

“You leave the Ewoks out of this. You’re obsessed with space. If Gamora had asked you to join the Guardians, I really don’t think you would have accepted my proposal.”

Smirking, Natasha side-stepped that ridiculous theory with, “The whole thing is Tony’s fault, if you think about it.”

“Somehow, it always is.” Bruce lazily threaded his fingers through the short strands at the nape of her neck. How often she changed her hair was one of his favorite things to tease her about.

She didn’t give him a chance, insisting, “I mean it, you spent too many years collaborating with him.” She let her hand rest lightly on Bruce’s stomach. “You need to keep in mind that you’ve got nothing to overcompensate for, sweetie.” She watched his eyes crinkle with mischief as she undid the row of buttons on his flannel shirt.

He crooked a finger, his lips coming together in anticipation of a kiss. Natasha leaned forward, but at the last second spat into his collar and used it to swipe at the dirt covering his chin.

Bruce tried to squirm out of her grip — “Argh, horrible. Unhygienic. No. No — ”

“Oh, sit still. I’ve almost got it,” Natasha cooed. When she was satisfied, she clamped her lips over his. That settled him right down. “What’d they used to call this?” Natasha murmured. “Swapping spit?”

Bruce let out a breath through his nose. “I fully — ” He stroked inside her mouth. “Take back the  — ” She stroked into his. “Mmph. The ‘unhygienic’ crack.”

“Thought you might.” Natasha pulled back a little to hold Bruce’s face. She sighed.

They’d been talking over the decision to adopt Amadeus and Maddy for weeks. They’d dug into each other’s neuroses, licked each other’s wounds. They wanted to be parents — they needed to step up and be Amadeus’ and Maddy’s parents — more than they feared failing. But that didn’t mean there weren’t things they’d have to give up.

“Newlywed stage is gonna be over soon,” she pointed out.

“Nuh-uh. I married a spy. Stealth turns me on.”

Natasha half-laughed, half-groaned. His regular jokes were bad enough; his dad jokes were going to end her. Nudging him off her shoulder, she stood up. She peeled off her shirt and tossed it over Bruce’s face in the same movement.

He lifted it to leer at her good-naturedly. “Okay, I admit there’s something to be said for the overt.” He got up, but Natasha was already backing off the porch.

“Lose the shirt,” she ordered.

Complying, Bruce asked, “What’re you up to?”

Jogging backward a few yards, she stopped and pointed her ass at him as she shimmied out of her jeans. When she twisted around, she found that Bruce actually looked surprised. She laughed. “Remember our first day here?”

“It was ninety degrees then,” he called. But his hands were on his belt buckle.

“I’ll keep you warm,” she promised. Then sprinted toward the lake, her bra flapping behind her like a pennant.

The weather was ten degrees too cool and the muddy forest floor more rocky than would be ideal, but Natasha didn’t care. She was in the mood for a celebration. She and Bruce were an accomplishment in and of themselves; despite a hundred mistakes they’d become each other’s family. They would see each other through.

Bruce yards behind, no doubt struggling out of his socks, Natasha hung her thong over one of the posts on the dock and doubled-back to hide behind a tree. He arrived on a chorus of minorly pained noises, clad only in a pair of black briefs. Jogging to the end of the dock, he balanced on one leg and then the other to strip. He stood stark naked and watched the still surface of the lake for any sign of her, while she crept up behind him. Her eyes were firmly planted on his backside; her mind was on the first time she’d ogled it, from atop a smoking crater that had once been a HYDRA facility. Her fondest memories came from the most unexpected times.

The twin dimples over his ass cheeks were to blame for why she didn’t react faster to Bruce turning around to lunge at her. Natasha allowed him to hoist her over his shoulder and spin her around, the pair of them all bare skin and deep-throated laughter.

The shocking cold of the water hit them hard, but they were still laughing when they came up for air. Natasha shivered and clutched at Bruce’s radiating warmth, her earlier promise complete bullshit in light of how cold-blooded she always was. Her legs secure around his torso, Bruce bobbed up to take in a gulp of air and ducked them both. Under the surface of the water, they kissed as long as they could share a breath.

Gasping and grinning, Natasha leaned back onto the surface of the water as Bruce bent forward to nuzzle her breasts. Letting the sensation wash over her, Natasha memorized the moment. She wanted to remember the sway of the leaves, the clouds over the distant peaks. When her gaze fell on the empty dock, though, her present happiness seeped into the future.

She curled her arms around Bruce’s neck. “Listen.”

In the silence, she heard the pitter-patter of small feet on wooden beams, the sounds of cannonballs and splash fights. Laughter she’d yet to hear. Laughter that would mark the moment when Maddy and Amadeus felt safe in the home Bruce and Natasha built for themselves.

Natasha looked away from the dock, forehead coming to rest against Bruce’s.

His gentle eyes smiling into hers, he said, “I hear them.”


End file.
